


It's Only Forever

by Wreck



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Good Peter Hale, M/M, Minor Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Nemeton, Scott McCall is a Good Alpha, Spark Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-02-22 18:47:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13172976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wreck/pseuds/Wreck
Summary: After seven years, Stiles Stilinski returns to Beacon Hills to finish something he accidentally started as a teenager.---“It’s pretty coincidental that right when all of these threats appear in Beacon Hills you return,” Isaac said, seemingly unable to keep quiet any longer.Stiles glanced at Isaac before looking back to Scott.“It’s no coincidence,” he said finally. “It’s exactly the reason I’m back, and exactly the reason that I had to stay away before.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iCheat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iCheat/gifts).



> This is my Steter Secret Santa gift to [iCheat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iCheat/pseuds/iCheat) who wanted BAMF Stiles, banter, and a power couple. 
> 
> Unfortunately, some real life got in the way, so I am only able to get you the first part of this fic by the gifting day, but I promise that the rest will be coming post haste. And that the rest of the fic will have way more of the things you want. So, apologies for the WIP, but think of it as a Christmas gift that lasts longer ;) I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Finally, this has not been beta read; all mistakes are my own, and I will fix them as I notice them.

"It's only forever. It's not long at all."

–– David Bowie, Underground

* * *

It started with a pulse, a barely noticeable tremor in the earth, a signal spreading through the ground and into the world, creating the smallest of whispers if anyone were listening.

At first the call was nearly undetectable. The signal was clear, if one could read such signs, but it was so quiet, so unassuming that no one looked. Besides, it was searching, calling, seeking a single soul out of the millions in the world.

But after a while, the call grew louder, more persistent, and and the Nemeton of Beacon Hills became a beacon once more, calling out to the world, looking for its chosen Guardian.

 

*

 

Peter was running.

He was in his Beta shift, running full speed towards the center of the woods. In his peripheral vision, he could see Isaac several yards away on one side of him, and Derek on the other. And though he couldn’t see them, he could hear the sounds of Kira, Jackson, Malia, and Liam, too.

In the near decade since he had recovered, died, and come back to life, threats on Beacon Hills had slowly increased in frequency. After Scott officially became Alpha and inherited in the responsibility of the land, the random attacks from neighboring packs and rogue omegas stopped for a while. Time passed in relative calm, the pack grew, and the teenagers that made up most of the pack grew up.

But then, about two years ago something changed, and nights like tonight, with the whole pack defending the territory from some unknown threat, had become more and more common.

The evening had started with Peter relaxing in his apartment, finally cracking open a book that had been sitting on his coffee table for months. But about three pages in, Derek had called and reported that he and Isaac had picked up a strange scent in the preserve. And before Peter could even make it to the front door, Scott had called; Lydia was screaming and Parrish was restless.

Something big was going on in Beacon Hills.

And so here they were, chasing down some unknown threat, like they had done so many times before, but something felt off tonight. At first Peter thought it might be the weather; there were heavy, low clouds in the sky, and the air seemed to crackle with the threats of an impending storm. But as he ran further and further into the woods, he realized that whatever was going on was interfering with his innate sense of direction, and he could tell by the way that the others kept looking around to check their bearings that they were having this same issue.

A howl broke through the relative quiet of the woods, and Peter immediately changed directions, charging towards the call of his Alpha.

As he lept over a fallen tree and came into a clearing, Peter suddenly realized where he was; a spot that none of them had seen in seven years. He stopped short and Derek nearly ran into his back, as the others crashed into the clearing.

A figure was sitting on the stump of the Nemeton, the hood of a sweatshirt drawn over their head. They seemed relaxed, and not at all concerned about the rain that was beginning to fall nor the scattered bodies surrounding the tree.

Scott was already there facing the figure, his back to Peter and the rest of the pack, with one arm wrapped protectively around Lydia’s shoulders. And wait––where had Lydia come from?

Peter strode forward, taking his spot as Enforcer at Scott’s side, claws out and eyes burning electric blue. As Scott’s second, Isaac matched Peter’s stance on the other side of Scott and Lydia, letting his own claws lengthen and his eyes flash bright yellow. The rest of the pack followed suit, getting into fighting formation behind their Alpha. For all their rag-tag beginnings, fighting was something this pack now excelled at.

“This land is spoken for,” Scott called a moment later. “What do you want with the Nemeton?”

The figure raised their head, but the hood and the rain kept their features in shadow. “Why doesn’t your Emissary protect and tend to this tree?” they asked. Scott shared a look with Peter but didn’t get a change to answer before the figure continued, “Just look at what I had to do tonight to protect it.”

Lightning crashed through the sky, illuminating the bodies spread between the pack at the tree, and Lydia whimpered into Scott’s shoulder. Whatever had happened to them did not sit well with the Banshee.

“We do not have an Emissary. So, I ask again, what do you want?” Scott called.

“A pack as renowned as yours with no Emissary?” The figure mused, almost to themselves. “How will you restore the balance that is lacking in Beacon Hills. How will you make things right, and silence the call that continues to bring supernatural creatures here, seeking out the Nemeton,” the figure said. “It’s dying, and desperate. And without an Emissary, you need my help.”

“How could _you_ possibly help?” Scott asked.

The figure stood up and walked forward, stepping over the bodies as if they weren’t even there. “Don’t you recognize me?” He said, pushing back his hood to reveal messy brown hair, and bright brown eyes above a mischievous smile. “I’m the one who woke it up in the first place.”

 

*

 

Seven years ago, on a quiet Saturday morning after Allison’s funeral, the Sheriff packed their bags, and he and an unusually quiet and fragile Stiles left for what everyone thought was a much needed vacation. Three weeks later, the Sheriff returned alone. No matter how much Scott begged or pleaded with him, the Sheriff refused to tell anyone where Stiles was. He only insisted that Stiles was fine and was doing what needed to be done to get well.

The first few months were hell for the pack, especially Scott. They were still reeling from Erica and Boyd’s deaths when Allison died, and then on top of that, Scott’s best friend had been plucked out his life. No one was sure that the young Alpha would survive such a loss.

The smell of grief permeated everyone, and over time it was just easier to not talk about those they had lost. So, it wasn’t that the pack forgot about Stiles, it was just the only way they could cope.

Life went on.

Needless to say, seeing Stiles standing in the the middle of the woods after all this time was a shock to everyone. Peter could smell the mix emotions radiating off the pack: confusion, apprehension, excitement.

It was Lydia who finally spoke first. “Stiles? Is that really you?” She sounded breathless, as if she had just run a long distance. She took a deep calming breath, and her voice came out much more steady as she continued. “Did you do all of this?”

Stiles tore his eyes away from Scott’s face and smiled at Lydia. “Hey, Lids. Yeah, it’s really me.”

Peter smirked to himself as he noticed that Stiles didn’t answer her second question. That alone felt so familiar and so Stiles-like that Peter let himself relax ever so slightly.

Scott seemed to had finally recovered. “Where did you come from?” He asked. “Hell, where have you been?”

“I’ve been here and there,” Stiles said vaguely. “The east coast, the south for a while, Ireland most recently. And I promise I’ll answer all of your questions,” he continued, “but first I need you to trust me. I meant what I said about the Nemeton. You don’t have a lot of time.”

“It’s pretty coincidental that right when all of these threats appear in Beacon Hills you return,” Isaac said, seemingly unable to keep quiet any longer and voicing what most of the pack were probably thinking.

Yes, it was Stiles, but none of them really knew him anymore, and the thing they were all remembering was that before he left, he was possessed by an ancient chaos spirit.

Stiles glanced at Isaac before looking back to Scott.  

“It’s no coincidence,” he said finally. “It’s exactly the reason I’m back, and exactly the reason that I had to stay away before.”

Peter was silent during this whole exchange, just listening and taking in the man that now stood before them. Because that’s what was now––a man, standing tall and exuding a confidence that the boy Peter knew before never had.

Finally, Peter leaned over to Scott and said quietly, “If there are no other threats in the woods tonight, don’t you think we should take this somewhere else?”

Scott tilted his head in a barely discernible nod. “You said you’d tell us everything,” Scott asked and now Stiles nodded.

Scott turned to Isaac. “Call Parrish. We need to take care of these bodies.”

“Don’t bother,” Stiles interjected. “Only the supernatural can find the Nemeton, and if anyone does find it, these bodies should serve as a warning.”

Scott stared at Stiles for a long moment. “Okay. Meet us back at the Pack house. Peter, you go with him.”

If Stiles thought it was odd that Scott could give Peter a direct order, and that Peter would follow it, he didn’t show it. Instead he nodded again and stepped forward to face Peter.

“My car or yours?” he asked casually, as if they had just bumped into each other on the street.

“I ran here,” Peter deadpanned.

“Of course you did.” Stiles said, and turned on his heel, expecting Peter to follow him. Peter did. “So,” he continued once they had left the clearing, “you’re even more attractive then I remember.”

“I…” Peter started the stopped, surprised. “Shockingly, I am not sure how to respond to that.”

Stiles laughed. “Usually one repays a compliment in kind.”

Peter tilted his head back and laughed. “Oh, Stiles. The years have not been quite the same without you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Stiles said with a wink. “But I was hoping for something a little different.”

“Right now you’re lucky I haven’t shoved my claws into you demanding answers.”

“Oh, so, that’s what you’re into...”

Despite the fact that the Nemeton was magically hidden in the woods, they were actually close to the road, and at their quick pace, they had already reached the small turn off where hikers often parked. Stiles pulled out his keys and unlocked a fairly new Subaru that would have been inconspicuous except for a lopsided bumper sticker that read: _I break for wolves_.

Peter rolled his eyes at the whole situation he found himself in and pulled open the passenger side door. “Just drive.”

Peter watched Stiles as they drove. Stiles had pushed up the sleeves of his hoodie once he settled behind the wheel, when the streetlights hit him, Peter could see that his arms were muscled and covered in tattoos. He seemed completely relaxed, as if he and Peter were good friends who saw each other regularly, not someone he had considered a quasi-enemy the last time they saw each other.

Peter was fascinated. Stiles was always the interesting once, and seven years had only emphasized that fact.

“I can feel you staring at me,” Stiles said after a few minutes of silence.

“Forgive me if I’m still a little shocked to see you after seven years.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t my idea to stay away for so long, but you know how these things go,” Stiles waved a hand as if to dismiss the idea.

“No, not really,” Peter said and Stiles just shrugged and kept driving.

 

*

 

Over the years, Scott had grown into his role as Alpha of the combined Hale and McCall pack, and his skills often showed themselves in subtle ways. In this case, by the time Peter and Stiles arrived at the house Scott and Isaac shared, Scott had managed to master his shock and had clearly given the rest of the pack a pep-talk, as well as called for backup, as both Parrish and Chris Argent were in the living room with everyone else.

There was, however, still a pregnant pause when Stiles entered the room. Once again it was Lydia who broke it by launching herself at Stiles and enveloping him in a hug, pressing her face against his chest. After a moment, he hesitantly wrapped his arms around her in return.

“I didn’t realize how much I missed you,” she said as she pulled away and returned to her spot on the couch next to Derek and Kira.

“I missed you, too,” he replied. “All of you. Even you, Jackson.”

Peter stifled a laugh as Jackson grumbled under his breath and Scott shot him a look.

“Obviously we all missed you,” Scott said turning back to Stiles, “but, dude. It’s been seven years. One day you were here, and then next you were gone, and we never heard anything!” There was no disguising the hurt in Scott’s voice.

Stiles sat down in an empty armchair, facing the pack who were all seated around the room, aside from Peter who was still leaning against the wall near the door where they came in, partly so he could watch everyone at the same time, but mostly because strategically it was the best place to protect the pack if needed.

“I know, Scott. I wished more than anything I could be here with you guys,” Stiles said.

“They why couldn’t you?” Scott asked. “Was it really so bad here?”

“No, it wasn’t my idea. Back when we sacrifice ourselves, Deaton never really told us what we were doing––maybe he didn’t know––but when the nogitsune got in, something else happened as well. It activated something within me. A Spark.” He made a sort of jazz-hands gesture as if this was a pronouncement that should have gotten a bigger reaction.

Peter and Chris shared a look across the room, but everyone else was looking at Stiles in confusion.

“A spark? Like an electric spark?” Kira asked from her spot on the couch, slotted against Derek as if he was trying to protect her from a possible threat. “Like how I am a Thunder Kitsune?”

“It’s more of a classification of magic user,” Stiles replied with a smile, and Peter got the feeling he was trying to ease the tension that was building between him and the Pack.

“You have magic,” Lydia said in a way that sounded like she finally understood a complex equation and the answer was simpler than expected.

“We still don’t know if it was something I was born with or if it was left over from the nogitsune, but yeah, I have magic,” Stiles confirmed.

This caused a ripple of excited chatter to flow through the room.

“I still don’t understand,” Scott said once everyone quieted down again.

“The Nemeton is such a powerful force that the second the spark flickered to life, the tree called to me, wanted to bond with me,” Stiles began. “I tried to go to Deaton then, but he refused to teach me, so my dad and I had to go find someone who would.”

“He refused?” Peter asked, more shocked than he supposed he should have been given his own history with his mother’s former Emissary.

“Yes, but knowing what I know now, I think he didn’t have the skills,” Stiles said dismissively. “After all, he left the Nemeton unattended all this time. Where is he anyway?” He asked, but didn’t pause to wait for an answer, “You guys are lucky that Beacon Hills is even still here.

“The point is that we did find an expert, eventually, and it’s a good thing, too, because otherwise the Nemeton may have consumed me. But we did find one, and they were in Massachusetts, which isn’t really that surprising because they have a ton of magic users there what with Salem and all…”

Peter smiled to himself as Stiles veered off track. There was a tiny glimpse of the teenager he once knew, overflowing with energy and information, and so easily sidetracked.

“...Anyway, once we started working together, my mentor explained that my magic needed to develop outside of the influence of the Nemeton, and even the pack. He said I would know when the time was right to return, but that I needed to cut all contact in order for this to happen.”

“And now is the right time for you to come back?” Scott asked.

“Seven years is a magic number,” Stiles continued. “Not only did it give my magic a chance to mature––and boy did it ever,” Stiles added with a wink to the room, “but it meant that for the past seven years there has been no one tied to the Nemeton.”

“What does that mean?” Derek asked. “You’re here to protect the Nemeton?”

“And protecting the Nemeton includes whatever happened to those bodies out there?” Parrish asked before Stiles could answer.

“Yeah, about that…” Stiles began, “that wasn’t quite the plan, but when I arrived they were in the middle of a ritual and, trust me, a few dead bodies is way better than the alternative.”

“What alternative?” Peter asked, though he thought he was beginning to understand Stiles reason for returning.

“Didn’t you wonder why so many supernatural creatures wandered into Beacon Hills? And didn’t you wonder why it was happening more and more frequently?” The room nodded and Stiles continued, “The Nemeton is on the brink of death and it needs to be tethered to someone. Deaton abandoned the tree when he gave up his position as Emissary, and so it’s been searching for someone to tend to it, to nurture it’s magic.” Stiles paused and looked around the room at the pack that he once knew so well. “So, here I am. Seven years later, and ready to finish what I accidentally started.”


	2. Chapter 2

Peter waited three days before he broke into Stiles’ new apartment. The second his feet touched the floor, he was slammed up against the nearest wall, and held a few inches off the floor with magic. A moment later Stiles had a knife at his neck, and Peter had his claws extended against Stiles’ stomach.

“I figured you’d be paying me a visit,” Stiles said conversationally.

Peter smiled, inhaling the sweet smell of Stiles’ magic, familiarizing himself with its unique character: oak, citrus, and something sweet just out of reach... “You’ve always been smart.”

Stiles held him there for a moment before stepping away and letting the magic drop Peter to the floor.

“Beer?” Stiles asked, walking towards the fridge and pulling one out for himself.

“Since you’re offering,” Peter said retracting his claws and sitting down across from Stiles at the small kitchen table. He accepted the beer and sniffed. He found Stiles watching him appreciatively. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Stiles. It’s just that I don’t trust you.”

“You shouldn’t trust me,” Stiles said, a wicked gleam in his eye. “I wouldn’t.”

Peter grinned as Stiles lifted the beer bottle in a slight salute and then took a swig. Peter followed suit.

“Like I said, you’ve always been smart,” he repeated, setting his un-poisoned beer down. “So, let’s talk.”

Stiles spread his arms as if to say “I’m an open book” and Peter skimmed the various runes and symbols that were tattooed across the otherwise pale skin. They were far more intricate and extensive than they appeared under the streetlights the other night.  

“Don’t insult me,” Peter snapped. “You essentially volunteered to be our Emissary, despite the fact that we’ve heard not hide nor hare of you for seven years.”

Stiles shrugged.

“And you weren’t forthcoming with much information with the Pack,” Peter continued. “You talked a lot, don’t get me wrong, and some might think you explained things, but you and I both know you held back more than you revealed.”

Stiles shrugged again.

“Where did you go when you left Beacon Hills?” he asked, frustration rising.

Stiles sighed, resigned to answering Peter’s questions. “As I said before, Massachusetts first. I got my GED while studying magic under Goldwist.”

Peter made a hum of recognition.

“Do you know him?” Stiles asked leaning forward, a hint of mild surprise in his tone.

“I know _of_ him. Deaton consulted with him a few times when when he was Emissary for my sister,” Peter explained. “I didn’t realize he was still active.”

Stiles laughed. “Yeah, well, amazing what magic can do, right?”

“So, then what?”

“College. Harvard, actually,” Stiles confessed. “Folklore and Mythology major, some ancient languages here and there.”

“Impressive.”

“I mean,” Stiles continued in that same tone Peter had remembered fondly the other night: one that was about to take them on a long, winding tangent, “most of its embellishments, but there is a lot of truth buried in there.”

“So, then what?” Peter asked again, trying to keep the conversation on track. Stiles’ digressions were less amusing when he was actually trying to get information out of the other man. “You went to Harvard and you must have graduated, what, two or three years ago now. So, where have you been?”

“Well, right after I graduated, I spent a month or so in New Orleans, but then I got an offer to apprentice in Ireland, and then I was in Dublin until I came home,” Stiles said, heartbeat steady. “I also said that the other night.”

“We both know you’re being purposefully vague,” Peter said slowly, leveling Stiles with a look as he let the rings of his eyes flash blue. Stiles just laughed, completely unaffected, and took a swig of his beer.

“Tell me something, Peter,” Stiles said, leaning forward on his elbows, all of his interest directed at Peter. “How did a man like you, a one-time-Alpha, become Scott’s Enforcer?”

“Don’t change the subject. I’m asking the questions here,” Peter snapped, his lip curling in annoyance.

“Humor me,” Stiles said casually, fiddling with the label on his beer bottle, as if he didn’t care if he got an answer or not. He looked up after a moment, and Peter didn’t see––or smell––a single ounce of fear.

“Fine,” Peter huffed. “I was already training to become Talia’s Enforcer before the fire. It was a job that suited my nature, if you will.” Stiles snorted out a laugh and Peter’s eyes narrowed. “When I decided to stay with the new Pack, it made sense to take up my old position. Scott certainly wasn’t going to do the dirty work himself, and I knew protecting the Pack was the one thing that would make him trust me back then. Even with Argent around, every pack needs someone like me.”

Stiles’ smile grew as Peter talked. “You were about my age at the time of the fire, right?”

“Twenty-four,” he agreed.

“And you were already trained to do what you needed to do to protect your Pack.”

“Yes, Stiles,” Peter said, annoyed at answering questions he felt had obvious answers. “And while I think Scott is an idiot most of the time, he is my Alpha and those dumbasses are my Pack and I would kill to protect them. Which is why I am here. You disappear and seven years later you show up as a Spark and a potential Emissary, and I’m just supposed to trust that your loyalty is still to your childhood best friend––”

“What do you know of the O'Connell Pack?” Stiles interrupted and Peter stopped mid-rant.  

“You were with the O’Connell Pack?” Peter asked after a beat, eyeing Stiles in an entirely new light.

“Almost three years.”

There was a long pause where both men stared each other down.

“You wouldn’t be _just_ an Emissary.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Stiles agreed, heart steady, no magical scent in the air at all.

“Does Scott know?”

“Does he need to?”

Peter’s lips curved into a smile. “And there’s the Stiles I remember. So, wonderfully flexible with his morals.”

“The O’Connell’s were a good fit.”

Peter barked out a laugh and stood up. “I still don’t trust you yet, and yes, I realize the irony of this entire situation. But I will tell Scott that you are not an immediate threat to our Pack. And then you will earn my trust.”

“I have no doubt that I will,” Stiles agreed easily.

Peter saw himself out.

 

*

 

Peter wasn’t sure what it was about Stiles that kept him on edge. Possibly it’s the memory of Stiles possessed, deadly still, and with no scent. Or maybe it was the fact that he was now able to slip back into life in Beacon Hills as if he’d never left.

Despite the urgency Stiles conveyed during the reunion in the woods, it didn’t seem to Peter that the Spark was doing all that much to commune with the Nemeton. While Peter hadn’t seen Stiles himself since his visit, he had heard from members of the Pack that Stiles had been making the rounds, reinitiating himself into the lives of his old friends.

Strangely, the only thing that didn’t bother Peter, though perhaps it should have, was Stiles’ ties to the O’Connell Pack.

The O’Connell Pack was an ancient Pack, said to be descended from Cú Chulainn himself. There were very few Packs that could trace their history as far back, and they were the stuff of legend in the werewolf community. The current Alpha was known to be as equally warm and welcoming into her den, as she was to strike down any threat to her Pack or territory. And these were just the positive rumors Peter had heard.

If Stiles had spent nearly three years with that Pack, then magic wasn’t the only thing he learned.

Peter wondered if he should check with Argent, get some intel on what that Pack had been up to recently. He pulled his phone out a few times, thumb hovering over Argent’s number, but eventually decided against it.

He could wait. He was good at waiting.

 

*

 

Peter didn’t see Stiles again until a week later when he found himself in the middle of chase through the preserve, running with the pack in a way that was becoming all too familiar.

Isaac was missing, Scott was in a panic, and everyone who has been patrolling the territory reported unusual scents––they knew they weren’t dealing with unknown werewolves, but they had no idea what had entered the woods.

It wasn’t that Peter had forgotten about Stiles; the mysterious man had been on his mind almost constantly since his return. It was more that they had done things as this collective pack without him for so long, calling Stiles hadn’t really occurred to anyone in the heat of the moment. So naturally he was a little thrown when Stiles came barreling out of the trees and crashed right into him.

“Goddamnit, Stiles,” Peter snapped once he realized who he had nearly run over.

Stiles groaned. “You’re telling me. I am definitely going to bruise.”

“What are you doing here?” Peter asked, grabbing Stiles by the arm, and pulling him along, unwilling stop in his search.

Stiles looked around, incredulous. “Just taking a late night stroll. What does it look like? A witch snatched Isaac, and you think I should just sit around at home?”

Peter paused for a moment. “A witch?”

“Obviously,” Stiles said, stumbling to a stop. “Why, what did you think?”

“We were mostly focused on finding our Second,” Peter snapped.

“Well, good thing I’m here then,” Stiles said, and Peter could see a slight grin in the moonlight.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine. Keep moving then.”

Peter gestured for Stiles to follow him.

“You know a lot has changed since I was last out in these woods with you,” Stiles said, voice dropping to just above a whisper and he fell in step beside Peter.

“We’ll see,” Peter said.

A few minutes later Peter managed to catch the witch’s trail and then he was off running with Stiles doing an impressive job of keeping up. They reached a small stream, and nearby they found the witch tending a fire in front of Isaac, who was bound and gagged laying on his side in the dirt.

A growl of protectiveness threatened to escape Peter’s throat. Aside from Derek, Isaac was probably the packmate that Peter like the most, and not just because he could match Peter snark for snark.

Peter bit back the growl and crouched down behind a large bush, just outside of the firelight, pulling Stiles down with him. He strained his ears, and while he could hear the rest of the pack, they were far off, and he didn’t think he had time to wait. Luckily the Stiles that was with him was not the same Stiles he had known before; this one, he was pretty sure, could take care of himself.

“I’ll take care of the witch, you go untie Isaac,” Peter breathed. Stiles hesitated for a moment, but then nodded before slipping away.

Peter waited for Stiles to move around to the right position before he attacked. As Peter launched at the witch in Beta shift, claws out and snarling, she spun around and hit him with some sort of powder. It wasn’t wolfsbane, but it stung and clouded his vision.

Peter went down to his knees, swiping at the air in front of him in a blind rage, everything was blurred and doubled. Through his confusion he thought he heard the witch scream something and then suddenly, he felt Isaac at his side, pulling him to his feet. Isaac smelled panicked; the bitter scent flooded Peter’s senses and disoriented him further.

As his vision began to clear and Peter saw the marks down Isaac’s arms, and smelled the faint hint of wolfsbane that must have been infused in the ropes. The cuts would heal, but not instantly, not until they were cleaned. Peter felt himself growling protectively.

“Get behind me,” Peter ordered and Isaac scrambled to comply.

Peter’s vision had not fully recovered, but that wouldn’t stop him from protecting his Pack. He growled, and leapt forward, this time taking the witch down with a rough bite to her shoulder. She cursed and stabbed at his leg with a dagger, but before it pierced him, her hand froze.

Peter looked up and there was Stiles, standing calm and collected in the flickering firelight. His jacket has been removed and his tattoos stood out stark against his pale skin.

“What business do you have in this territory?” Stiles asked. His voice was soft, conversational.

The witch just hissed at him and struggled to push the knife forward into Peter’s thigh. Peter realized he wasn’t being held, but he was too enchanted by Stiles’ power to do much more than watch.

“This is McCall Territory. On behalf of Alpha McCall, I ask again: what business do you have here?”

The witch continued to try and push her way past whatever Stiles was using to hold her back. She spat and screamed and Peter rolled his eyes and reached up to wrap a clawed hand around her neck.

“He asked you a question,” Peter said.

“Screw you, wolf,” she spat.

“Whelp, I think that’s the only answer we’re going to get out of her,” Stiles said, crouching down so he was level with Peter. “Would you do the honors?”

“With pleasure,” Peter growled, and he tore out her throat.

There was a surge of power and Peter got the brunt of it: the rotting smell of the witch, but also the rich oak smell of Stiles’ magic. And there was something else there, warm and somewhat familiar, but before Peter could dwell on it, the rest of the Pack came splashing across the stream. Stiles gave Peter a wink as he brushed dirt of his jeans and was pulled aside to talk to Scott.

Later, after Peter had made sure that Isaac was taken back to the Pack house and cleaned up; after Peter had taken care of the body and scrubbed himself clean; after he laid awake, staring at the ceiling of his condo thinking back at the fight and at Stiles’ power; later, after all of that, just as Peter was drifting to sleep he finally placed that precise scent of warm honey. He had smelled it nearly every day for two years.

It was the smell of Stiles’ arousal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this fic, Stiles is 24 and Peter is 36. 
> 
> I have a LOT of thoughts about the TW timeline and the ages of the Hales. Meaning, I have thought way, way to much about this for a show where the mythology is all made up, and continuity doesn't matter. That being said, if you want to know my timeline for this fic, or my headcanons for their ages, feel free to ask here or come flail at endlessmeg.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

Peter was enjoying a coffee outside of his favorite cafe when he heard a newly familiar car approach and pull up to the curb. A car behind honked and swerved around the Subaru, and Peter caught himself smiling.

“Get in,” Stiles called, like he could just boss Peter around.

“Give me a good reason,” Peter replied, glancing down at his phone in feigned dismissal.

“You were supposed to just hop in the car, and it would be all cool like in a movie,” Stiles argued. “But no. Fine. Something set off the wards on the north edge of town. I thought you might like to come along.”

Peter frowned but got into the car nonetheless. After the encounter with the witch, he was starting to get a better understanding of Stiles, but he didn’t fully trust him, and he didn’t quite feel like Pack yet.

“I wasn’t aware that we had wards on the north edge of town,” Peter said as they pulled away from the curb.

“What do you think I’ve been doing for the past week? Honestly, it’s a wonder that you guys have even survived this long. The last time Deaton renewed the wards, it was like the 90s,” Stiles said.

Peter wasn’t all that surprised to hear that Deaton has essentially stopped supporting the Hale pack after the fire, even when they began returning to Beacon Hills. He wasn’t even surprised that he continued to do nothing after Scott become Alpha, despite the fact that Deaton always positioned himself to Scott as an Emissary. It made his sudden retirement and closure of the vet clinic all the less shocking.

“So, you’re going to check on something that tripped these new wards without Scott or Isaac?” Peter asked, a small smile playing on his lips. “By the way, you still drive like an insane person.”

“Yeah, well, I just got used to driving on the other side of the road and now I’m adjusting again, deal with it,” Stiles snapped. “But yeah, it seemed more like a job for an Enforcer.”

“Interesting,” Peter commented with a grin.  

Peter had to admit that things had gotten a little more dull after Stiles left. No one in the pack had the kind of creative solutions to problems Stiles did.

They drove in silence for a few minutes before Stiles asked, “Just how frequent have these attacks been recently? I can tell it’s increased, but shockingly the vibes I get from the land don’t give me a precise number.”

“It’s hard to say. It’s been a bit of a slow build, but then suddenly, it seemed like we were fighting something off every week,” Peter explained. “It may be hard to believe, but we did have a few years of relative peace after, well, you know…” he trailed off.

“Yeah,” Stiles said in an odd tone.

“You know, we haven’t actually seen the Nemeton in seven years,” Peter continued. “After all that went down, it was lost to us. No one could find it. Not even Lydia or Jordan. We didn’t forget it about it, but it didn’t really occur to us that the tree was the cause of all this trouble. But now that we know, it makes sense that most of what we have been dealing with have been things like witches and druids and other magic users, and less omegas.”

“Wolves would be drawn to the the power, but not in the same way,” Stiles explained. “It’s why this territory has always been so tempting. And if a pack had a proper Emissary who would tap into that power, well… It’s very, very tempting then.”

Peter considered this. “Is that why that witch snatched Isaac. Would there be an advantage for a magic user to have a werewolf? And why Isaac?”

“Yeah, it is strange to want Isaac,” Stiles said.

“Hey, I like Isaac.”

“Oh, you would,” Stiles dismissed. “But yes, there are advantages to having a supernatural creature around if you’re a magic user,” Stiles confirmed, then paused, worrying his lip with his teeth. “But I don’t think that she was trying to anchor herself to pack by using Isaac. I think she was trying to sacrifice him to the Nemeton.”

“What?”

“Well, she wasn’t doing a very good job of it. I mean, she wasn’t anywhere near the Nemeton. I doubt it would have worked.”

“That’s really not all that reassuring,” Peter said with a glare.

Stiles sighed. “So, generally, if you want to be able to tap into a Nemeton’s power, you have to make a sacrifice. But what this witch didn’t know is that we already did that––three fold,” Stiles said. “So, the tree isn’t looking for more sacrifice, it’s looking for someone to tend it.”

“And that someone is you?” Peter asked.

“That’s the plan,” Stiles agreed.

“What’s the hold up?”

Stiles snorted back a laugh. “Oh, like it’s so easy to just tether yourself to magic trees. Look, I’m still working on this. I know some of the theory––that’s one of the reason I was with the O’Connell Pack. They have one of the oldest Nemeton’s in the world, but their Emissary is a sídhe, so the process was kind of different. I mean, she gave me a ton of insight into her bonding, but I don’t know that I can really apply that here since our tree is, well, different.”

“I’m beginning to think that you were mincing your words when you told us about the mess Deaton left.”

“No shit. Deaton was a twatwaffle. What did your sister even see in him?”

Peter laughed. “Oh, Stiles. The past few years have been so boring without you.”

“I bet you say that to all the Sparks.”

Peter smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Stiles tipped his head back and laughed.

“He wasn’t always bad,” Peter said after a few minutes of comfortable silence. “But he was never the same after the fire. None of us were…”

“I’m sorry––” Stiles started.

“Don’t.”

Stiles shot him a look, but then nodded and kept driving.

About ten minutes later they crossed the border of Beacon Hills and into what amounted to neutral territory, inasmuch as there was no official claim on this land. Back when Talia was Alpha, the Hales had unofficially looked after the boarding empty land, with the next closest pack being up near Humboldt. Peter tried to keep tabs on what went on just outside of their territory, but the neutral territory was always teeming with activity; it’s the easiest way for any supernatural creature to travel without announcing themselves to a Pack.

Stiles pulled onto a frontage road and then turned into the parking lot of an old self storage facility that looked abandoned.

“This is where the wards are pointing. I’m guessing they’re squatting somewhere around here,” Stiles said as he got out of the car.

“Just out of curiosity,” Peter said, his tone bored as he picked non-existent lint off his sweater, “do you have a game plan, Spark Stilinski?”

“I always have a plan, Enforcer Hale,” Stiles replied with a wink.

Before Peter could return the banter a sound caught his attention. He turned around and looked towards the opposite side of the parking lot. He may not have seen anything yet, but he knew someone was there. Peter took a few steps forward, his natural instinct putting himself between Stiles and this unknown threat.

Back when he was in high school, when this Pack was first forming, Stiles ran with wolves, and fought with this wit and brains, and sometimes a baseball bat. All these years later, Stiles stepped into line next to Peter, straight and defiant, with no visible weapon on him at all. His jacket was gone, and Stiles’ bare, tattooed arms were all the weapons that he needed.

They both stood in silence for a minute before two rumpled looking men emerged from one of rows of storage units. They were scrawny, if they were werewolves, and if they weren’t already Omegas, they were well on their way. They shot each other looks as they approached Peter and Stiles.

“Anything I can help you gentlemen with?” Stiles asked casually.

Peter glanced at Stiles, but he had already decided to follow Stiles’ lead, so he remained silent, waiting.

“We’re not in your territory, why are you here?” one snarled, voice already raising in anger.

“Oh, but you were in our territory, weren’t you?” Stiles corrected. “I’m just wondering why you didn’t announce yourself to Alpha McCall?”

“And where is Alpha McCall?” The man sneered the name as if it was something foul.

“He killed Fauna,” the second one whined, so low that Peter wasn’t sure Stiles was able to hear it. But the desperation in his voice had Peter on instant high alert, and he, again, fought the urge to put himself between the werewolves and Stiles.

A wicked grin crossed Stiles’ face. “Oh, was that your witch? Fauna, did you say?” The two wolves snarled when Stiles said her name. “I’m sorry to report that Alpha McCall did not, in fact, kill her. We did,” he finished triumphantly, smiling broadly.

Both of the other men just stared at Stiles, and Peter bit back a chuckle, but allowed his eyes to flash blue. Weather it was the slow realization that he and Stiles were the ones they were after or Peter’s bright eyes that set them off, he didn’t know. But suddenly the men were growling and shifting into their Beta forms, eyes bright and yellow.

“Well, what are we going to do about this?” Stiles drawled.

Peter let his claws extend, examining them lazily. “Oh, I’m sure I can think of something.”

The air was rich with anger and frustration and the stale smell of the other werewolves, but Peter still inhaled deeply as the scent of oak and sweet honey poured off Stiles. Peter hardly had time to to reflect that _Stiles was getting off on this_ before the werewolves were launching at them in a fury of snarls and claws.

It was as if they have been fighting together for years. Stiles was everywhere Peter wasn’t, equally as strong and fierce with his magic as Peter was with his claws. The fight, if one could even call it that, was over before it really got started.

Peter had his knee in the center of one of their backs, holding their arms back with one hand, and pressing claws into the side of their neck with the other. It just enough pressure to leave little doubt to what he might do if they moved.

Stiles had the one that seemed to be in charge pressed to the steel door of one of the storage units, held up by magic, though Stiles’ forearm against his throat was probably helping a bit.

“Let’s try this again,” Stiles said, low and dangerous. “Why are you lurking around the McCall territory?”

The werewolf snarled but said nothing.

“Fine. Let’s try another approach.” Stiles did something and the werewolf whimpered in pain. “Why did you send a witch into our territory? Did she promise you our land? Did she promise you a pack?”

After a moment of more whimpering, but still no answers, Stiles tipped his head back to look at Peter. “You getting anything out of him?”

“Not a damn thing,” Peter said. He stood up and pulled the werewolf to his feet.

“Shame,” Stiles said with a sigh.

Peter was amused and had to remind himself that they both held unpredictable, borderline-omega werewolves.

“Want me to take care of them,” Peter asked, mostly to see how Stiles reacted. And there it was––a skip in Stiles’ pulse.

“No,” Stiles said slowly. “But I think we can send a message.”

Peter stared at Stiles, and Stiles just nodded. At the same time, they both moved; Peter raked his claws diagonally across the back of the werewolf he held, and Stiles did something with his magic, his tattoos shimmering.

“Go,” Peter snarled, putting all of his Enforcer strength behind his voice.

The werewolves didn’t waste any time, scrambling to each other and snarling once more before they ran away.

Peter took a few steps towards Stiles, eyes tracing the tattoos as the light faded out of them and they returned to their standard black. He could smell the faint lingering scent of Stiles’ magic, but the honey scent still poured off of him, strong and heady.  

“Well that was interesting,” Peter said after a moment. 

Stiles laughed. “Tell me about it.”

“I have no doubt––” Peter started to say, but stopped abruptly and swung a clawed hand down, and behind him.

At the same moment Stiles stepped into his personal space and thrust his hand out, under Peter’s other arm, pulsing magic out through his fingertips.

There was whimper and squelching noise as the werewolf that had attacked fell loose of Peter’s claws and collapsed on the ground. Stiles didn’t step away from Peter, they were nearly toe to toe, and Peter could still feel the power rolling off Stiles in waves.

“I think we might be Drift Compatible,” Stiles breathed.

Peter rolled his eyes as he relaxed and inhaled the scent of Stiles’ arousal. Stiles tipped his head back slightly to look at Peter, and Peter leaned forward, letting his nose brush against Stiles’ neck.

Stiles smirked and tilted his head further to the side, exposing more of his neck to Peter, and Peter let out a low, deep growl, pressing himself flush against Stiles. The warm scent of honey and sweat and the lingering scent of magic washed over Peter, and he had no doubt that Stiles could feel what it was doing to him.

Stiles fisted his hands in Peter’s shirt, his blunt nails pressed delightfully against Peter’s back. Peter slid his mouth up the expanse of neck, rubbed his stubble against the pale skin, and Stiles let out a half moan, half sigh. He was about to bite at Stiles’ jaw when the sounds of “Hungry Like the Wolf” split the air.

Stiles groaned and fished in his pocket for his phone. He didn’t pull himself away from Peter, but he did mouth sorry when he caught Peter’s look.

“Hey, Scotty, what’s up?” Stiles said by way of greeting.

“Hey, where are you?”

Peter heard Scott as clear as if he were standing there with them, and standing this close to Stiles while he could hear Scott bothered him more than the dead body at their feet. Still, he didn’t move to change their positions.

“Across town. Why?”

“Look, can you come over? We have a problem,” Scott said.

“Sure thing. Be right there,” Stiles said and hung up.

He looked at Peter, sighed, and then took a step back.

“Duty calls,” he said with a shrug.

They both stared at each other a moment, letting the past few minutes catch up to them before Peter turned and looked down at the dead werewolf.

“Normally, I would say that we should dispose of the body,” Peter said. “But in this case…”

“We still need to send that message,” Stiles finished.

Peter watched closely as Stiles bent down, and held his hand next to the body. A symbol appeared––almost like two arrows pointed inwards, with a series of lines and dashes running through. ᚛ᚋᚉᚉᚐᚂᚂ᚜ It glowed blue for a moment before fading, but Peter had no doubt that someone who knew what to look for would find Stiles’ mark.

“Shall we go see what your dear Alpha wants?” Stiles asked, straightening up.

“Well, we wouldn’t want to keep him waiting, now would we?” Peter replied with a smirk and they headed back to Stiles’ car.

 

*

 

Peter didn’t need werewolf hearing to know that Scott and Stiles were fighting. The second they had reached the Pack House together, Scott had dragged Stiles upstairs into his office––his soundproof office that only worked if someone remembered to close the door all the way.

Peter had casually strolled into the living room and found Isaac pretending to play with his phone. He settled onto the couch next to Isaac, letting their shoulders bump together in a friendly and familiar manner.

“What’s going on?” Peter asked, but Isaac just shushed him and pointed up towards the ceiling.

Scott and Stiles were increasing in volume as they fought. Particularly heated parts of their conversation floated downstairs.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” Scott asked.

“Well, not this fast,” Stiles shot back.

Peter groaned and dropped his head into his hands.

“You must have forgotten we have a Banshee in the Pack,” Scott yelled back.

“And a Hellhound,” Isaac muttered and Peter smacked him lightly.

The voices dropped in volume and Peter could barely hear the murmur of conversation.

“I don’t suppose I’m going to get a talking to from you, am I?” Peter asked.

“Because I see that going over so well,” Isaac snarked. “Besides, Scott expects certain things from you.”

“Oh really?”  
  
Isaac leveled him with a look that told him to stop playing dumb. “Enforcer.”

Peter scoffed. “So what’s with––”

“But Peter was with me!” Stiles yelled, and Peter and Isaac both stopped talking to listen to their argument.

“That’s not the point!” Scott yelled back. “You said that you would become our Emissary! Emissaries don’t just kill people.”

Peter could picture Stiles’ reaction to that statement: eyes and mouth open wide, a look of utter disbelief on his face.

“Oh, and what’s your comparison? Deaton? Because let me tell you something: Deaton really shouldn’t be the standard you measure me by.”

“Deaton wouldn’t have done this.”

“That’s my fucking point!”

Their voices faded again and Peter was fairly certain Scott finally realized the door was not quite shut all the way.

“So, Scott thinks Stiles is the same as he was before,” Peter finally guessed.

“Yeah,” Isaac confirmed.

“You know how ridiculous that is, right?” Peter said. “Even without the Nogitsune, it’s been seven years. Stiles has been with… other packs.”

Isaac eyed him, and it looked for a moment like he might ask for details, but he just sighed.

“Look, I tried to reason with him, but it’s Scott, you know? And Scott has his way of doing things.”

“I _was_ with him,” Peter pointed out even though he knew it wouldn’t make a difference. Not to Scott, anyway.

“Oh, I can tell,” Isaac said with a sniff.

Peter smirked, much preferring this avenue of conversation. “I assure you nothing ungentlemanly occurred. That being said, I can’t deny that there might be some interest. He did grow up well, didn’t he?”

“Ugh. Why are you still talking?” Isaac asked, a look of fake disgust spreading across his face.

“Summer of 2015 ring any bells? I had to stay in that safehouse with you guys, too, and yet…”

“Ok, ok. Point taken. And Scott and I are still sorry about that,” Isaac assured him. “But, you know, be careful?”

“I always am,” Peter said easily.

He pulled Isaac into his side, ruffling his hair.

Years ago, when the Pack was dealing with the fallout of the Nogitsune, and Allison’s death, Isaac had been touch starved and on the point of breaking, and Peter hadn’t had any form of real pack bonding since before the fire. It seemed natural for the older werewolf to take the younger one in, and find companionship with each other. It was never more than cuddles and scenting, but that was exactly what they both needed. And it was enough for them to both survive while the Pack recovered. They hadn’t done this much in recent years, but Isaac was one of the only pack members Peter shared this type of affection with.

He sighed and settled against Peter.

“You know, the way Scott was ranting earlier, before you got here,” Isaac said around a yawn, “he might just think Stiles is as crazy as you are.”

“Is that so?” Peter said trying to keep his voice even. He was glad Isaac couldn’t see the smile spread across his face.

“Don’t sound too pleased with yourself.”

“Me? Never.”

 

*

 

Stiles stormed out of the Pack House about half an hour later, and Peter didn’t even bother to try to go after him, even if they had arrived together. He knew from experience, that dealing with Scott’s frustration was best done when hot; if it was left to fester, the Alpha started second guessing everything, especially his own leadership.

Peter quickly extricated himself from Isaac, and a minute later Scott stomped in and took Peter’s abandoned seat on the couch, letting Isaac nuzzle into him.

“So, how did that go?” Peter asked, feigning innocence.

“He killed that guy,” Scott said without preamble.

“Well, to be fair, we both kind of did,” Peter corrected. “And we did let the other one go.”

“You are the Enforcer of this Pack, Peter. That’s part of your job, to take care of the threats. Stiles is going to be our Emissary. He’s supposed to help keep diplomatic ties between different packs,” Scott said, and it sounded like something he had repeated a few times.

“Yes, that’s one of their purposes. Some are like that, and some are neutral and cryptic like Deaton was,” Peter reminded him. “And then there are others who will do anything to protect the Pack. Haven’t you and Stiles been talking about his history while you’ve been catching up?”

Scott looked down at his hands and Peter tried to control his mounting frustration. Over all, Scott was a great Alpha, but there were some things he just did not understand because he was a bitten wolf who did not grow up with a Pack. Peter wished that Scott felt more comfortable asking for his advice on these things, but he also understood why he didn’t––he feared it would make him seem weak.

Scott shrugged defensively. “Yeah, we’ve talked, but it was mostly about movies and video games. I guess he asked way more questions about life here then I ever did about what he was doing while we was gone...” he admitted, trailing off.

Peter sighed and sat down in an armchair across from Scott and Isaac.

“Look, I know you don’t love coming to me for advice, and I don’t blame you,” Peter started, holding up a hand when Scott tried to argue. “You are not wrong to be weary of Stiles, Scott. A lot has changed in seven years, and he is not the person you used to know. At least, he’s not just that any more. He’s trained with magic users, and he’s spent time with other Packs, and in that time he’s learned way more than ways to negotiate land disputes between rival packs.”

“How do you know all of this?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “I asked him, the first chance I could. Because I don’t trust him, Scott. Not fully. I expect him to earn my trust, and the trust of the Pack, and I should hope you don’t just blindly trust him either.”

“But you said––”

“That being said,” Peter continued, ignoring Scott’s interruption, “I do think he is an asset to our Pack, and ultimately, once the bonds are there, I do think he would do anything to protect you. It just may be in ways that you don’t approve of.”

Scott sighed. “I should probably apologize to him.”

“Maybe. But you’re also right; he should not have tried to take care of problems on his own, without talking to you first.”

“And yet, you went too,” Scott pointed out. 

“Yes, well,” Peter said getting to his feet, “we expect that kind of behavior from me, now, don’t we?”

Scott huffed out a laugh, and Peter leaned over to ruffle Isaac’s hair and brush his hand against Scott’s shoulder before seeing himself out.

He tried not to grin as he heard Scott mumble, “What am I going to do about them?” before the door closed behind him.

 

*

 

Peter found Stiles parked outside of his apartment complex, sitting on the hood of the Subaru, and leaning back against the windshield. He wasn’t surprised that Stiles knew where he lived––in fact, he would have been disappointed if he didn’t.

“I wasn’t sure I would see you so soon,” Peter said, not stopping to look at Stiles, but moving past him and heading up the stairs to his top floor apartment. Juas as expected, Stiles followed him.

“Yeah well, I didn’t feel like sitting alone in my apartment getting more and more angry at Scott,” Stiles said.

“Don’t worry about Scott,” Peter said over his shoulder as he unlocked his door. “He’s an idiot and I’ve already told him as much.”

“I didn’t ask for you help,” Stiles said annoyed, hesitating on the threshold.

“You didn’t need to. He was wrong.”

Peter tossed his keys on a side table, and turned around to face Stiles, giving him a look that said, “Well, aren’t you coming in?” Stiles huffed out a small laugh and pushed passed Peter, throwing himself on the couch. Peter watched fondly as Stiles made himself comfortable in his apartment––in his den.

“Drink?” Peter asked.

Stiles sighed and tipped his head back and stretched. “Yeah. It’s been a long damn day.”

“You’re telling me.” Peter sat down next to Stiles, and offered him an amber colored drink in a tumbler. Stiles eyed the drink. “Don’t worry. You didn’t poison me, I won’t poison you.”

Stiles laughed and took a sip. “I wasn’t worried. I know you wouldn’t poison me. Not quite your style, is it? I’d be more worried about your claws, but I don’t think you’ll kill me. I think we’re past that, don’t you?”

“Ah, but where is the fun when the mystery is gone.”

Stiles smiled and raised his glass. “Sláinte.”

“Cheers.”

As Stiles threw back the drink, Peter could smell a wave of exhaustion pour off him, but underneath there was still a lingering smell of sweet honey. They were both quiet for a while, and Peter felt an odd sense of comfort with Stiles that he wasn’t expecting to feel.

“I’m wrecked,” Stiles stated, putting down his glass and rubbing his eyes. He stretched again, and then looked straight up and into Peter’s eyes. “Are you going to take me to bed, or not?”

Peter made a low pleased rumbling noise, thinking back to how good it felt to have his face pressed into Stiles’ neck. Stiles laughed.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’m going to fuck your brains out,” Stiles stated, and Peter felt a jolt of desire in his chest. “But not tonight. Tonight I just want to be near you…” Stiles trailed off, and a pink blush was spreading across his cheeks.

Peter marveled. Stiles was embarrassed by his need to be near Peter, not his sexual attraction.

“You want to be with Pack,” Peter said. “It’s not all that shocking. You defended this territory with me, and the bonds are beginning to form.”

“Yeah, I can feel them, too,” Stiles said softly, almost reverently. “But I hope Scott comes around because once I finish this, you guys will be stuck with me.”

Peter leaned forward and ran his hand through Stiles’ hair. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“You may be singing a different tune later,” Stiles said bitterly.

He looked into Peter’s eyes once again. This time, all traces of tiredness seem to vanish, and Peter felt like he had been weighed and measured down to his core. Stiles held his gaze a moment longer, then nodded to himself and the exhaustion seem to flood back onto his face.

“We’ll see, sweetheart,” Peter replied, leaning forward and rubbing his cheek against Stiles, and then lightly brushing their lips together. A moment later he stood up, and pulled Stiles up with him. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe how long it's taking me to finish this story... real life is a bitch sometimes, you know? But I do plan to have the final part of this out soon, so I can finish this fic before the 2018 Secret Santa starts! HA!

Peter woke up warm and content, and it took him a moment to remember that he was not alone in his bed. It had been years since he had woken up with someone next to him, and he felt a pang of nostalgia as their combined scents filled his nose.

Stiles has fallen asleep as soon as his head had hit the pillow, curled in on himself, like he was shielding himself from some danger. But at some point in his sleep, he had relaxed and stretched out, and eventually gravitated towards Peter. Now he was slotted against Peter’s back, face calm and relaxed, as if this was how he always slept.

Peter sighed in contentment and rolled over to face his bedmate.

Stiles looked his age while he slept. When he was awake and animatedly talking, Peter could still see hints of that awkward teen that he had known, but with his eyes closed, and face relaxed, Peter could see just how much Stiles had aged. It made Peter wonder, as he gazed down at him, what else Stiles has been through since he left Beacon Hills.

It also struck Peter, with full force in that moment, that Stiles really wasn’t an awkward teen anymore. Rationally he had understood this, as he had watched the rest of that rag-tag group grow up into mostly functioning adults, but the memory he had held of Stiles for so long had been of him right after the Nogitsune had been ripped from his body. Now that he was able to gaze openly at the sleeping man, he was able to acknowledge the draw that he felt. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he would have found Stiles this alluring if he hasn’t vanished for seven years, but now that Stiles was here for the taking, he wasn’t going to question it.

“How long have you been watching me sleep, you creeper,” Stiles mumbled, eyes cracking open.

Peter laughed, low and warm. “Not that long. But you are in my bed, and I think that makes it fair game to gaze upon you.”

Stiles hummed as if he wasn’t sure about that statement. Then he stretched his arms over his head, and lazily leaned over and kissed Peter.

Peter was stunned for a moment. In all of his wildest dreams––and since Stiles has strolled back into his life, he’d had quite a few––he never would have thought that his first kiss with Stiles would be a sleepy, morning kiss; it had always seemed like it would happen in the middle of a fight, as it almost had the day before. But it turned out, this was the thing that he was beginning to love about Stiles: his ability to keep Peter on his toes.

Peter let Stiles set the pace, but drank in Stiles’ taste and smell and every slight noise he made. Stiles wasn’t shy or reserved, and after a moment, the tone became less sleepy as he delved into Peter’s mouth with his tongue, deepening the kiss and pressing himself forward so that he was solidly pressed against Peter.

Peter hooked an arm and a leg over Stiles and pulled him closer so that they were pressed together from thigh to chest. Stiles made a happy sound against Peter’s mouth, and slid his leg over Peter’s so that their legs were now slotted together. Peter pressed up and Stiles pressed down in response, grinding his hardening cock against Peter’s thigh, and breaking the kiss with a gasp of pleasure. Peter seized the opportunity to bend forward and press a series of searing kisses to Stiles’ neck.

“You have no idea how much I wanted you yesterday,” Stiles said, nearly breathless.

Peter buried his face in Stile’s neck and inhaled deeply before pulling back. “Of course I do. I could smell it on you,” he said. “I can smell it now.”

“Oh god,” Stiles said, face flushing. “Sometimes I forget about you wolves and your obsession with scents.”

Peter laughed softly. “Oh, Stiles. If you could smell the desire rolling off of you, you would be obsessed as well.”

“Ok, ok. Less talking, more sexing, please,” Stiles said, and wrapped his hand behind Peter’s head and pulled him forward, into another deep kiss.

Peter smiled into the kiss, smelling the sweet smell of Stiles’ arousal, as well as the slightest tinge of embarrassment.

After a few long minutes of heavy making out and rutting against each other, Stiles once again pulled away. “Less clothes. Now.”

Peter usually slept naked, but since Stiles had only shared his bed out of sheer exhaustion, Peter had kept his t-shirt and underwear on when he had climbed in bed the previous night. Now he pulled his own shirt over his head, and smirked as he caught Stiles taking in the full expanse of his toned chest and stomach.

Stiles immediately tried to surge forward, but Peter held him back with one hand firmly on Stiles’ chest.

“You too, sweetheart,” he all but purred, gesturing at the loose shirt and boxers Stiles had slept in. “I want to see what you’ve been hiding under your clothes.”

If Peter was expecting Stiles to blush, he would have been sorely disappointed. Stiles looked up at Peter and gave him a smoldering look as pulled his shirt off, and then lay back against the pillows, arms behind his head, and let Peter’s gaze sweep across his heavily tattooed skin.

Peter leaned down and placed the flat of his tongue against the end of a black line of a tattoo curling over Stiles’ shoulder and down towards his chest. Peter licked up, following the line, curious as to full spread of the design that swirled across Stiles’ body, and fascinated by the reaction this move caused. Stiles sucked in a breath, and arched his back, exposing more of his skin to Peter’s mouth.

“You taste delicious,” Peter said, licking into the dip of Stiles’ collarbone. “I can’t wait to taste you everywhere.”

Stiles could only moan in reply. As Peter had licked up his chest, he had also been sliding his hand down Stiles’ stomach, and as he spoke he thrust it into Stiles’ boxers and wrapped his large hand around Stiles’ cock.

“Fuuuuuck. Peter.” Stiles groaned out as Peter began to stroke slowly, up and down, brining Stiles to full hardness.

He lay back again, and let Peter continue his ministrations on both his neck and cock. After a minute or so, he seemed to remember that he had had a mostly naked werewolf body in front of him that he had yet to explore. He pushed Peter away, and slid off of the bed.

Peter reluctantly let Stiles go, and leaned back on his elbows to admire his handiwork. Stiles stood before him next to the bed. His lips were slightly swollen from their extended makeout session, he already had beautiful bruises blooming across his neck and chest, and his hair looked delightfully tousled. The only thing that could make it better, Peter thought, would be to see the full expanse of Stile’s long, lithe body.

As if Stiles could read his mind, he smirked, and hooked his fingers into his boxers, and pulled them down, stepping out of them as they pooled on the floor. The tattoos on his chest continued down his stomach and curled around the top of his hips and thighs. A happy trail of light brown hair led down from his navel to between his legs, where his cock was full and at attention.

Peter took everything in, and licked his lips in anticipation of getting his mouth on every inch of the man before him. But Stiles was already moving, crawling back on to the bed and leaning over Peter. His long fingers skimmed over Peter’s chest, and down to his tight, black trunk-style underwear. Peter’s bulge was hard and pressed against his hip underneath his trunks, and he sighed as Stiles learned down and mouthed his cock through the material.

He looked up at Peter and smirked, then pulled down Peter’s trunks and swallowed down his cock.

“Goddamn it, your mouth,” Peter hissed.

Stiles hummed around Peter’s cock, and began a relentless rhythm of sucking and licking. It was the best thing that Peter had felt in years.

A distant part of Peter’s brain wondered at Stiles’ skills; wondered who Stiles had been with before, who he had lost his virginity to. Had there been other wolves? His heart stuttered for a moment as the thought of another wolf touching Stiles crossed his mind…

But the more pressing part of Peter’s mind didn’t care who was in Stiles’ past. Hell, a part of him felt like he owed someone a fruit basket for teaching Stiles to deepthroat like a fucking pornstar. Besides, if Peter had his way--and he usually did--he would erase any memories that lingered of Stiles’ previous lovers.

The thoughts of how he would mark Stiles as his own combined with Stiles’ mouth was making everything escalate way quicker that he would have preferred. But Peter didn’t fight it; he was certain that this wasn’t going to be a one time thing. He would be able to take things slowly later.

“If you keep doing that I am going to come,” Peter said, fingers sinking into Stiles’ hair and pulling gently but firmly.

Stiles’ seemed to be getting off on the tugs to his hair, and instead of pulling off he moaned around Peter’s cock and redoubled his efforts. A minute or so later, Peter arched back and fought to keep his claws in check as he came down Stiles’ throat.

“Goddamnit. Get up here,” Peter demanded, tugging on Stiles’ hair again.

This time Stiles pulled off Peter’s softening cock with a slurping noise, and crawled up Peter’s body, pressing their naked bodies together as he licked into Peter’s mouth. Peter could taste his own release on Stiles’ tongue, and this made his wolf go crazy.

“I always knew your mouth would be a problem,” Peter said against Stiles’ lips. “I just didn’t realize what kind of problem.”

“Oh? And what kind of problem is that?” Stiles asked with a smirk.

“The distracting kind. The kind where I have to remind myself that you are a powerful Spark and I can’t just use you as a cockwarmer.”

Stiles’ eyes glazed over slightly at this statement. He leaned forward so his lips were touching Peter’s ear and whispered, “I think you’ll find that I can do both exceedingly well.”

Peter growled and flipped them over so that caged Stiles to the bed with his larger frame. “It’s my turn.”

“I’m all yours,” Stiles said.

Peter paused for a second. “Be careful, sweetheart. I may hold you to that.”

“You better,” Stiles answered easily.

Instead of thinking too hard about the implications of that, Peter dived back into his exploration of Stiles’ body. He now traced the lines of the tattoos down, avoiding Stiles’ cock at first. When Stiles was whimpering and squirming, Peter finally gave in and nuzzled his face into his crotch, and inhaled the musky scent––it was perfect and Peter thought he would never get enough of it.

When he did finally lick up the length of Stiles’ cock, Stiles let out the most amazing moan, followed by a litany of swears. Peter smiled to himself and after a few minutes devoted to taking Stiles apart with his mouth, he slid his hands up Stiles’ legs, under his ass, caressed his balls and grazed his fingers against his hole.

Peter felt the full body shudder run through Stiles a second before he tasted Stiles’ release on his tongue. He savored the flavor, swirling his tongue around Stiles’ cock a few more times to make sure he caught every drop before he pulled away. Peter slid back up the bed and pulled Stiles to his chest. They were both sweaty and spent, but the scents rolling off them made Peter’s wolf want to howl.

Peter leaned over and lazily kissed Stiles, very much the same way Stiles had done when he first woke up. When they finally broke the kiss, Stiles slid down slightly and cuddled into Peter’s chest.

“I’m going to have to talk to Scott,” Stiles said after a long silence.

“Please refrain from talking about McCall while we are naked.”

“Sorry-not-sorry,” Stiles said, and though Peter couldn’t see his face, he could hear the smile in his voice. Then Stiles sighed and when he continued his voice was heavier. “I just know we have a lot of work to do, and not a lot of time left to do it.”

This piqued Peter’s attention. “How little time?”

“I mean, I don’t have a precise answer,” Stiles said slowly. “But I can feel something coming, and if we don’t stop it, and I don’t bond to the Nemeton soon…” he trailed off.

Peter didn’t need Stiles to finish that thought. He understood what was at stake.

“Well, I guess you should get that cute ass out of bed and over to the Pack House,” Peter said, though he made no attempt to release Stiles from his grip.

Stiles laughed lightly, and nuzzled into Peter’s chest. “I’m sure it can wait until after breakfast.”

 

  
*

 

Peter was pacing. He felt like he was going to tread a hole in his very expensive carpet. All of his senses—both wolf and human—were on alert, and yet nothing had happened. In fact, if it weren’t for the other recent changes in Peter’s life, he wouldn’t have even noticed that anything was different.

In the week since he had first woken up with Stiles in his bed, he found himself in all sorts of compromising positions that he had thought he had outgrown, including making out in Stiles’ parked car on the side of the road to the preserve three and a half times; the fourth time was interrupted by Sheriff Stilinski himself tapping on the window with his flashlight, an expression of amusement and frustration on his face.

“Should I be worried that the Sheriff might show up on my doorstep with a shotgun?” Peter had asked later.

Stiles just roared with laughter, which neither answered the question nor particularly reassured Peter.

Still, Stiles had spent more time than not at Peter’s apartment. After he hashed it out with Scott, Stiles reappeared at Peter’s with an overnight bag, a backpack full of books, and a smug smile. Peter was secretly pleased.

But now, it had been hours since Stiles had left that morning with a casual comment of “talk to you later.” Every now and then Peter would swipe open his phone, and check his messages, and every time he saw the last message from Stiles that was sent the night before:

From Stiles @9:46PM: Ugh my dad’s diet still sucks. I’m bringing cheesecake that someone brought to the station that I refuse to let him eat. We’re going to take this one for team.

Peter had replied @9:50PM: Such a hardship. How will we manage?

Following that text were three from Peter checking in with Stiles, one around 11, then 2, and most recently 4:30; he hadn't received a reply. It took all of his willpower not to sink his claws into the glass of the damn phone in frustration. Something was very wrong, and it was becoming clear to Peter that he was the only one who was aware.

Peter pulled out his phone and thumbed to his contacts, hovering over Scott’s number. These days, reaching out to Scott was almost second nature, but for some reason he hesitated. Though Stiles had smoothed things out between him and Scott regarding the rogue Omegas, he didn’t want to add any fuel to the potential flame. Still....

Still, he hadn’t heard from Stiles, so there really was nothing for it. Scott was the Alpha, and if anyone had any information, it would be him.

He thought about texting and then decided that it would be easier to just call.

Scott picked up on the third ring. “Peter?”

“Have you heard from Stiles,” Peter asked, cutting out any formalities.

“Not since yesterday,” Scott said slowly, concern seeping into his voice. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Peter hesitated again, then decided to be transparent with Scott; something that didn’t come easily nor naturally, despite their generally good relationship. “He left here this morning and said he’d be in touch, but he hasn’t,” Peter said, and realized how lame and sophomoric that sounded to his own ears. “Normally I wouldn’t give it a second thought, but he’s been texting me incessantly recently, and when we were talking about the issue with the Nemeton, he made some vague comments about running out of time. So...”

“So, now you think he’s run out of time,” Scott finished.

“Yes,” Peter agreed.

There was a long silence and then finally Scott said, “I think you should come over. I’ll call the rest of the Pack. I mean, it's possible that he got caught up in research and—“

Scott cut off abruptly, and at first Peter wasn’t sure why, but then he felt it, too. A vibration, or more accurately, an echo of one that rocked his core.

“Was that—“ he started.

“Lydia,” Scott finished.

They were both silent for a moment before Scott continued, his voice now urgent, “Come over. As quick as you can.”

“I’m already on my way,” Peter said, grabbing his keys and running out of his apartment as he hung up on Scott.

Peter roared into the driveway of the Pack House twelve minutes later, breaking numerous traffic laws on his way. He had debated shifting and running over, be he decided having his car at the ready was the best plan; besides, if the Sheriff pulled him over, he thought he might just have a get out of jail card in the form of his missing son.

He all but stormed into the house, “What’s happening? Was it Stiles?” Peter demanded as soon as he saw Scott. He came up short when he saw Parish, Isaac, Kira, and Chris already gathered around Lydia. His tone softened, “Are you ok?” he asked.

Lydia looked up at home with softer eyes than he’d seen on her in a while, “Yes, I think so. And, no, it’s not Stiles,” she added. “But I think he was involved.”

Peter could feel Scott stiffen beside him. He knew Stiles’ use of force was a still a point of contention with Scott.

“What did Stiles do?” Scott asked carefully, and Peter got the feeling that this wasn’t the first time Scott had asked Lydia this.

“I don’t know,” Lydia answered, frustration seeping into her voice. “I just feel like he was there.”

“Where?” Peter prompted.

Parish, who had been hovering behind Lydia and looking concerned for his partner, put a protective hand on her shoulder and shot Peter a stern look. “It’s ok if you don’t know,” he said softly to her.

“It’s ok,” she assured Parish. “I understand where he’s coming from,” she added with a smirk at Peter which quickly told him that she understood exactly how his relationship with Stiles had developed. “I can’t be 100% sure, but I think it’s near the Nemeton,” she said. “I could maybe lead you to the place, but…” she ended with a small shrug. Everyone knew her ability to happen upon a body was something she couldn’t really control.

Peter sighed. “It’s already happening.” He turned to Scott, “How much did Stiles tell you about what he needed to do?”

“Just that he started a process years ago and that he needed to finish it,” Scott said.

“He said he would likely end up your emissary, if you were ok with that,” Isaac added.

“Right,” Scott agreed. “And I told him that that would be amazing. But I thought he had to like do some sort of, you know, magic or something?”

“He does,” Peter confirmed. “But he was concerned that there were others that would try to control the Nemeton before he could finish preparing. That one of these other creatures who keep invading our territory would try some bastardized version of a ritual to steal the Nemeton out from under us.”

Chris furrowed his brow, and when he spoke his voice was low and dangerous; the hunter again. “Are you saying that you think that Stiles has gone off to the Nemeton to stop some other supernatural creature from bonding with the land before he can? And that he went by himself with no backup?”

Peter levelled Chris with a stare. “I think it’s a distinct possibility. He left my place this morning with some vague comment about checking things out and I haven’t heard from him since,” he pointedly ignored the reaction this statement caused amongst the other members of the pack. “So, if Lydia thinks that Stiles was involved in whatever happened, then I think that is the most logical conclusion.” Peter paused for a moment to let that set in for a second then continued, “And I think sitting here and chatting about it is wasting time. Call in the rest of the Pack if you need to, but I’m going out there to see what’s happened. And if he needs our help.”

Scott reached out and grabbed Peter’s shoulder. It was an act of dominance, one that Peter had to fight the urge to shake off in his agitation.

“I know you’re worried; I am, too,” Scott said softly. “Seriously. I mean, obviously, it’s Stiles,” Scott continued seeing the dark look on Peter’s face. “But let’s approach this smartly.”

Peter glowered. He knew that Scott was still annoyed that he and Stiles had taken it upon themselves to go meet the Omegas. And the fact that Stiles had apparently gone off again, despite Scott’s disapproval hung over them.

“I can’t just wait around,” he said softly, almost pleading.

Scott softened, as Peter expected he would. “Fine. Take Chris and Isaac with you. I’ll gather everyone else and meet you in the preserve.”

Peter immediately moved toward the door. “Let’s go!” he growled back over his shoulder and didn’t wait to see if they would follow.

 

*

 

The joke would start like this: An Enforcer, the Second, and a Hunter walk into the woods…

The specific qualities of the team that Scott quickly assembled is not lost on Peter. One might easily peg Peter or Chris’ specific skills, and in fact the Venn Diagram of their skill sets overlap pretty significantly. However, Isaac is a wonderful wildcard when facing an opponent. Usually they can sense his importance to the Alpha, but his still young-looking face, hides a master strategist, and someone who can be nearly as ruthless as Peter when needed.

Peter more than understood the risks of heading into the woods without preparing for what they might find, and a small part of him silently thanked Scott for sending these two men with him.

As soon as they entered the woods they could feel that something was different. The air felt charged and oddly calm, like the moments before a thunderstorm. And though none of them were able to find the Nemeton on their own, even since Stiles had been back, without talking they all instinctively knew which way to go.

It wasn’t long before they heard a quiet sound. Peter held up a hand and they all stopped, Peter and Isaac listening carefully as Chris scanned the area. When they heard the sound again, Peter didn’t even hesitate. He sprung forward, running at full speed towards the sound of Stiles crying.

When Peter found him, he was slumped against the stump of the Nemeton, a shape dressed in dark robes sprawled across the ground near his feet.

“Stiles,” Peter said softly, approaching slowly. “Stiles, are you hurt?”

Stiles looked at Peter, and Peter froze. Stiles’ eyes were molten gold. Not just the irises, but his entire eye.

Peter dropped to his knees in front of Stiles, ignoring the body for now. He trusted that Chris or Isaac will investigate, and he had more pressing matters. “Stiles, what happened?”

Stiles looked up at him, expression confused for a moment before his eyes began to clear somewhat and Peter could begin to see their normal brown irises.

“Peter?” Stiles asked, and his voice sounded like it was a million miles away.

“Are you hurt?”

Stiles slowly shook his head, but then answered, “I don’t know.”

Peter reached out and took one of Stiles’ hands then immediately dropped it as a shock of electricity ran through him.

“Stiles, talk to me, please. What happened?” Peter asked again. 

“Sorry,” Stiles mumbled. “I didn’t mean to…but it was already happening...I almost didn’t make it,” he managed in halting bursts, his voice hiccuping.

Peter was vaguely aware of Isaac and Chris talking in low tones behind him, but he stayed focused on Stiles.

“It’s ok, Stiles,” Peter reassured him. “Can you tell me more?”

“They didn’t know,” Stiles said, a tear rolling down his cheek.

“Didn’t know what?”

“They didn’t know,” Stiles repeated, his voice wavering.

Before Peter could anything else, he heard the rest of the Pack approach. They all stopped cautiously a few feet away, except for Scott who came forward at once. Peter gave Scott a sharp look, and Scott narrowed his eyes, but stopped short of kneeling down next to Peter.

“Can you guys feel that?” Scott asked, addressing Isaac and Chris. “Everything feels off. It like-–”

“Like something big happened,” Isaac finished. “Yeah, we feel it.”

“Do we know what happened?” Scott asked.

“Stiles isn’t really in a state to talk,” Chris said. “But whoever this was, they’re dead now.”

Peter turned back to Stiles, ignoring the conversation happening behind him. Stiles’ eyes were fluttering closed and he was shaking as if he was freezing.

“Kira!” Peter called over his shoulder, not taking his eyes of Stiles.

KIra approached lighty, kneeling down next to Peter.

“I can’t touch him,” Peter explained, frustration obvious in his tone. “He’s, well, charged is the best way I can put it.”

Kira frowned, but slowly put her hand on Stiles’ shoulder.

“He’s full of power,” she confirmed, dropping her hand. “It’s not the same as mine, and it’s not electricity, but it’s something.”

“Can you help him up?” Peter asked. “We need to get him out of here and figure out what happened.”

Kira put her hand back on Stiles, and thought for a moment, then spoke slowly, “I think maybe I can ground him long enough to get him back to the house.”

“Do it,” Peter commanded.

Kira tucked herself under one of Stiles’ shoulders and hefted him to his feet. Now that she was touching Stiles, Peter hesitantly reached out again and found that he was no longer shocked, but he could still feel the power running through it, like touching one of those plasma balls that were all the rage when he was younger.

He paused next to Scott. “We should leave some of the pack here, in case whoever that was,” he jerked his head toward the body, “had backup.”

If Scott was annoyed that Peter was giving him commands, he didn’t show it. “Just get him back to the house, I’ll take care of things here and meet you there,” Scott agreed.

“Thank you,” Peter said, locking eyes with Scott for a moment, then quickly moved away, helping Kira half drag Stiles out of the woods.

 

  
*

 

By the time Scott returned to the house with most of the Pack (Parish and Chris had been left with the body), Peter and Kira had deposited Stiles into one of the guest rooms. Just before Stiles had passed out, he had mumbled one single word, and Peter had suddenly realized just how in over their heads they were.

“It was a Darach,” Peter said, the second Scott entered the house.

“What?”

“A Darach. That’s what Stiles killed. That’s who was trying to gain the power of the Nemeton,” Peter explained.

Scott frowned slightly but said, “Well, we’ve dealt with a Darach before…”

“Yeah, and that’s what got us into this mess,” Isaac pointed out.

“Isaac is absolutely right,” Peter said, final piece of the puzzle clicking into place. “That’s it. Stiles kept saying that they didn’t know; that’s all I could get out of him in the woods. But I didn’t know what he meant, I thought he was confused, but––”

“The sacrifices,” Lydia interrupted. “The Darach didn’t know we had already sacrificed ourselves to the Nemeton.”

“And that’s what Stiles said started this whole thing,” Scott said. He turned to Peter. “So what does this mean? What happened to Stiles?”

Peter shook his head. “I don’t know,” he growled out. “If he killed a Darach in the middle of some sort of ritual, he could have been hit by a spell, or…” he raised his hands and dropped them in defeat. He could make some guesses, but he had no idea what had happened to Stiles, and if he guessed wrong, that might just make things worse.

“He shouldn’t have gone there alone,” Derek said. “That’s what Pack is for.” 

Peter got where Derek was coming from. You only have to lose one Pack member to be changed forever, and they had lost more than they wished to remember.

Peter sighed, “I can think of only resource to help him, but,” and now he turned to Scott, “I’m going to need your permission. And you may need to make the initial call,” he added as an afterthought.

“Since when do you need my permission to do anything?” Scott asked in a surprised laugh.

“Since it involves calling the Pack that Stiles trained with,” Peter said slowly, and then seeing the look on Scott’s face he remembered that Stiles had conveniently left out those details when talking to Scott. “And when that Pack happens to be one of the oldest and most powerful Packs in the world. They go back as far as the Argents, if not farther.”

Peter watched the rest of the pack take in this information: Scott seemed confused and a little bit hurt that he didn’t know this; Lydia, Kira, and Isaac looked impressed; Jackson, Malia, and Liam, who had been watching the proceedings from a corner of the room, looked at each other as if checking to confirm that none of them knew what Peter was talking about either; but it was Derek, the only other born wolf in the room, who got it.

“He was in Dublin,” Derek said.

“That’s right.”

“He was with the O'Connell Pack,” Derek said, color draining from his face.

“He was with the O’Connell Pack,” Peter confirmed. “And now, we have to call them and ask them to help.”

 


End file.
